


An Inflammatory Response

by Aneres



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:39:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2102829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aneres/pseuds/Aneres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spock and Kirk try to diplomatically manage one of the more unfortunate symptoms of Uhura's pregnancy. </p>
<p>Unintentionally based somewhat on the Modern Family episode, "The Butler's Escape" (S4E4)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inflammatory Response

“We gotta do something, Spock,” Kirk says, when he’s finished his third coffee, “Or there is a good chance I will instruct Sulu to cover his eyes and drive this ship into an asteroid belt just to get the sweet, sweet relief of the endless sleep.”

 

Spock inhales deeply to calm his irate nerves before responding, “That would be a drastic course of action, Captain.”

 

Kirk waits, “See? Even you can’t rule it out as completely unreasonable.”

 

“You are mistaken. I find your solution to be very unreasonable,” Spock says, “Particularly as it is a permanent solution for a temporary issue which will resolve itself in a short amount of time.”

 

In 56 days, 13 hours, and 27 minutes, depending on a number of variables and potential circumstances. 

 

“Exactly,” Kirk retorts, “It _is_ a temporary issue keeping you awake now that will soon be gone but then,” Kirk touches his chin as if he is deeply contemplating something although Spock knows it is a sardonic gesture done to highlight what the Captain deems flawed logic, “Is there something happening soon which will be keeping you awake? Something you might need to rest for now because after the aforementioned event occurs you may never sleep again?”

 

Spock glances at the Captain before busying himself with his PADD. Even this task is difficult in his deprived state. The numbers, improbably so, seem to swim before his eyes. Spock inhaled deeply and looks back at the Captain who has been watching him consistently. 

 

“I am well aware of the physiological and emotional changes to which you are referring, as I have been contemplating them for four months, three weeks, and two days,” Spock says, cautiously hopeful the Captain will not take advantage of this small omission, “Do you have a proposition?”

 

Kirk pulls up the article he was reading this morning on his PADD and hands it to Spock. When Spock finishes, Kirk says, “It says swelling from blood or mucous can causes it. Bones says a humidifier will help,” Kirk holds up his hand as Spock opens his mouth, “I didn’t tell him what I wanted to know for.”

 

“Lieutenant Uhura is a rational woman,” Spock says, “She will question the sudden presence of a humidifier in our quarters.”

 

“Tell her it because she’s keeping both of us awake and it has to stop,” Kirk says. 

 

Spock looks at him, “This requires a more diplomatic approach. Do you recall anything from your incident with the Orion ambassadors?”

 

“I thought it was the sign for ‘hello’,” Kirk snaps, “They were barely naked and Nyota cleared everything up. How many times must I apologize for that?”

 

“Once would be more than adequate,” Spock says.  

 

“Fine. This might be beyond our skill level. Tell her its for you. Also you need to elevate her head. That supposedly helps too,” Kirk says. Spock begins to inhale deeply again and Kirk adds, “Also, a nasal strip if you can manage it.”

 

“Captain -”

 

“Excellent. It’s been decided. We’re doing something. We’ll try the humidifier and go from there,” Kirk says, “You can borrow mine.”

.

.

.

“I believe I have been suffering from desiccation in my nasal sinus,” Spock explains later when he is plugging the garishly shaped machine into a power outlet. The humidifier has the form of a cartoon frog and Spock cannot shake the irrational thought that the humidifier’s eyes are watching him as he moves. 

 

“Really?” Nyota says, folding her dress and draping it across a chair. She stretches, a painful expression crossing her face as her raw muscles ache at the movement, “I didn’t even notice. I’m sorry,” She peels off her underwear, tossing it onto the seat. As she passes him on the way to the bathroom, she kisses him on the head, “You want some medication for the pain?”

 

“I believe the additional moisture in the air of our quarters will be a sufficient remedy,” Spock says as he follows her into the bathroom. She sits on the side of the tub as the water rises and he watches her out of the corner of his eye as he fills the water container for the humidifier at the sink. 

 

When the tub is three quarters full, she stops the faucet and lower herself into the steaming water, sighing happily at the pleasant sensation. She sink beneath the surface to wet her hair. When she rises back up, she notices him watching her and smiles coquettishly, “Would you like to join me?”

 

He strips quickly and she laughs at this. She struggles to move her considerable form and he helps her adjust herself to accommodate him in the tub. He lifts her so that she can settle in his lap. When she is settled, he asks, “Do you find this arrangement favorable?”

 

She kisses his jaw in reply before curling into the curve of his body. His fingers find the cramping muscles which her movements previously indicated were in discomfort and he begins carefully kneading the tender flesh. Her breathing slows. 

 

“Are you comfortable, my Nyota?” Spock asks. 

 

“We’re both comfortable,” Nyota sighs. Under the water, she finds his free hand and places the digit over her growing belly. The fetus is kicking enthusiastically and he feels the movement on his palm. Nyota adds, “They were so still all day. I think they miss you when you’re away.”

 

“Are you finding your work difficult as of recently?” Spock asks. He knows she will likely produce a false response, due to her intense dedication to her work, but he tries in spite of this. 

 

“Not too bad,” Nyota says. Her mumbling, in conjunction with her fragmented sentences, indicate she is relaxed, which brings him satisfaction, “Captain gave me an hour for lunch. Took a nap.”

 

Her foot is traveling up and down the length of his calf. The appendage is swollen and inflamed.  He has also noticed the visible veins on her legs and body. The indigestions several books promised would only last a few months has yet to cede. 

 

The Captain wished to be discreet on the matter.

 

“She’s a great lady, okay, Spock?” Kirk had said earlier, “But she’s uncomfortable and that might skew her disposition if you catch my drift.”

 

Spock understood the general premise behind his friend’s assertion. However, the Captain had never shared intimacy like that which was fostered between his first officer and his chief communications officer. Perhaps this was a situations which aligned with the tenet his mother had often shared with him: Honesty is the best policy.  

 

“Are you experiencing any physical discomfort, my Nyota?” Spock asks. Even these words feel too bold but he make no gesture to rescind them. He touches the small of her back, a motion she has come to understand is one of tenderness and affection, “I would be more than content to research treatments for your maladies, should you have any.”

 

Her response is the loud, deep rumbling which was the topic of conversation between himself and the Captain previously. Her snoring reverberates painfully in his ears. The Captain illogically described the noise as “earth shattering” which Spock had refuted but now the stentorian sound seems to make the walls, which are reinforced with steel, shake. 

 

Through the door adjoining their shared bathroom with the Captain's quarters, Spock hears a loud boom of something being dropped. Nyota jerks awake. She shakes her head, making a confused noise.

 

“Did you say something, Spock?” Nyota asks, rubbing her eyes. 

 

Spock analyzes the dark periorbital edema surrounding her eyes. It would do no good to start a sensitive discussion while she is exhausted. 

 

“Have you already consumed your evening meal at this time?” Spock asks before she can fall back asleep. She shakes her head and he moves her gently so that he may remove himself from the tub, “I will gladly prepare any sustenance you presently desire.”

.

.

.

“Bones is fired,” Kirk says as he and Spock try to eat their breakfast the next morning. Both heard Nyota’s snoring all throughout the night, “It like throwing gasoline on a fire. I think the humidity just made it stronger.”

 

“Perhaps it is due to the increase in Lieutenant Uhura’s abdominal girth and the uterus pressing on her diaphragm,” Spock says, “A remedy for those physical changes would require a solution which is much more invasive. However, such a physiological alteration might also effect her respiration.”

 

“What if you told her we, you and I, had to sleep in the cargo hold for a while. For captain and first officer duties or something? We probably wouldn’t hear it there, right?” Kirk says, waving his hand aimlessly, “Right?”

 

“She would require further information and when none could be presented, her suspicions would be aroused,” Spock says. 

 

“Alright. Fair enough,” Kirk says. In spite of the resignation in his tone, his expression changes to one which Spock has seen multiple times when he was about to attempt something with an unfortunate outcome, “I’ll think of something.”

.

.

.

“You appear to be comfortable,” Spock notes. His shift has just ended and the ire and weariness which had begun to weigh him down during the course of the past twelve hours is diminished substantially when he finds Nyota on their couch, her feet propped up to relieve the swelling in her ankles. A bowl of strawberries is resting on her chest and she is eating them with an enthusiasm Spock has not seen her demonstrate, as of recent, in their shared meals. He moves to sit alongside her.

 

Nyota rolls her eyes, not at all caustically but in a manner Spock has come to associate with enjoyment, “I swear,” she says, pausing to consume a berry, “Halfway through my shift, I started dreaming about them. I’ve eaten a least a pound.”

 

“It pleases me to see you consume food with such gusto,” Spock says, waving a hand to decline the bowl she is presenting in offering. 

 

Nyota smiles, an expression which creates a sensation within Spock that can only be described as a constriction of his entire chest. He will never understand the false physical symptoms emotions seem to create but he has come to appreciate them, particularly as they relate to Nyota.

 

“Do you desire any other sustenance?” Spock asks, “I fear over consumption of such acidic food will give you indigestion if you forgo supplemental nutrition.”

 

“Toast, please,” Nyota says. Spock nods and begins moving toward their kitchen. As he leaves, Nyota calls after him, “Also, can you bring me that okra dish McCoy made? And that chicken thing too if there is any left over.”

 

Spock finds the fried okra Dr. McCoy made and supplied for the weekly card game he, Spock, Nyota, and Kirk participate in, from three nights prior and puts it into the thermal chamber to be reheated, along with the chicken parmesan Dr. Marcus prepared a week preceding when she visited to watch a holovid with Nyota. He also produces three slices of toasted bread, knowing Nyota will insist three is too much but ultimately crave more and consume the full amount. 

 

He has assembled all the dishes on a tray when Captain Kirk bursts in through their adjoining bathroom, announcing himself loudly by proclaiming, “How’s my favorite little family?”

 

Nyota jumps, alarmed, and attempts unsuccessfully to sit up. Her large stomach is a impediment to the movement and she flails for several seconds, caught between lying and being seated until the Captain dashes to her side to help her. 

 

“Baby’s getting big, huh?” Kirk says, grinning. 

 

“You didn’t knock, Kirk. You are supposed to knock before you come in here,” Nyota says. She is, of course, referring to the verbal and written rule she created upon learning the First Officer’s quarters and the Captain’s quarters shared a bathroom, a physical connection between their living spaces that Nyota had no love for. When the Captain is silent, she adds, “Remember?”

 

This being a allusion to past incidences where he has _interrupted_ them. 

 

“Bones sent me,” Kirk says. It is then that Spock notices the Captain is, apparently purposefully, avoiding eye contact with his First Officer, “I brought medicine.”

 

Spock moves to stand opposite Kirk and again, the Captain looks away, leaning closer to Nyota so he cannot view the Commander.    

 

“Medicine?” Nyota says. 

 

Kirk finally looks at Spock, starring for a prolonged period, clearly expecting his friend to say something. Spock, estimating as to what Kirk is referring to, is bewildered as to why the Captain thinks now is the opportune time to breach this subject and chooses to remain silent. Kirk glares. 

 

“An anti-inflammatory, really,” Kirk says, pulling a hypo out of the container he brought in the room with him. Nyota looks wearily at the device and Kirk adds, as if this is a deal which needs to be sweetened, “Plus I have time to take another whack at the crib. I still have unbroken fingernails from last time, you know?”

 

Nyota jerks away as Kirk leans forward with the hypo, “I think I’ll call Dr. McCoy. Just to confirm.”

 

She stands, grabbing a piece of toast from the the tray still in Spock’s hands, making a face at him when she is out of Kirk’s view, before disappearing into her study. 

 

“What is your intention with that hypodermic, Captain?” Spock asks.

 

“It’s really an anti-inflammatory, okay?” Kirk says. When he moves closer, Spock can see the exhaustion on his friend’s face, “I told Bones everything. I need some sleep, Spock. We wouldn’t tell her, if that’s what you think is essential to keep the peace, but damn it, I just need to sleep.”

 

Spock places the tray holding Nyota’s food down and heads toward her office, where Dr. McCoy’s likeness is projected on the inter-ship communicator. 

 

Around a toothbrush and a mouthful of foam from toothpaste, Dr. McCoy is telling Nyota, “I checked and double checked, doll, it’s fine for you and the baby. Plus it will do wonders for that local edema in your ankles.”

 

“This anti-inflammatory?” Nyota says, “Why didn’t you offer it before?”

 

“Just got the shipment,” McCoy says, “I ordered it a while ago. Took forever to come in. Didn’t want to get your hopes up. Have Spock administer it. If you fidget, you wouldn’t get the full dose and we wouldn’t want that right?”

 

Nyota turns to look at her husband. She studies his face for a few seconds and then shrugs. She hands him the hypo and pulls her hair away from her neck, “Do you mind?”

 

Spock hesitates with the hypo in his hands. He turns to the doctor again, “You are certain that this,” he pauses and then decides to emphasize his next word, “ _medicine_ will be safe and effective?”

 

“Yes Commander. Quite certain, indeed,” Dr. McCoy says, his tone annoyed. In the doctor’s own quarters, McCoy spits into a receptacle, a movement both Nyota and Spock see on the screen, “I don’t dick around, okay?”

 

Spock pauses longer still. Nyota is waiting. Finally Spock places the hypo on the desk and reaches toward the communicator where McCoy’s face still hovers, “I trust your competency but due to Nyota’s condition and our fetus’ hybrid status, I do not believe we will be using this medicine until we have gained a second opinion. Thank you Dr. McCoy.” Spock turns off the communicator before McCoy can respond. 

 

Nyota looks confused, “What was that about?”

 

Spock delays further. He has always appreciated the honesty Nyota has attempted to maintain with him in their communication and wishes he were capable of the same. More often then not, he is able to be truthful with her as well, particularly in matters of great importance. In smaller manners, however, when he is certain she will be discomforted or burdened unnecessarily, he is less capable, “I only desire a greater degree of confidence.”

 

Nyota gives him a look and for a moment he is certain he has been found out. Then she shrugs, “Okay. I call Dr. M’Benga in the morning for his opinion.”

 

Kirk stays, as he often does with and without invitation, for the remainder of the evening, providing anecdotes which entertain Nyota, an added levity to their free time which he often brings that is one of the few reasons Spock allows the frequent impeachments on their privacy. 

 

Later, when Nyota has excused herself for the night and the sound of her snoring is so loud, Spock is certain his ear drums will break, he chastises the Captain, “I am not entirely sure why you are not familiar with this nicety but in the future, please be aware I will be resistant to drugging my wife without her knowledge of the true nature of the medicament and its possible effects.”

 

Kirk leans on his knees, covering his ears vainly, “Yeah, yeah. I’m awful.”

.

.

.

Kirk sleeps about thirty seven minutes that night. He spends the majority of the wakeful time in his dark room, in the bed he had once felt so comfortable and secure in, which currently offers no solace when he can clearly hear the ferocious rumble of his Chief Communications Officer sleeping.

 

It’s difficult, due to his lack of sleep, but he thinks. Mostly about Spock and his inability to discuss the issue with Nyota. Is that what a relationship is? Sucking it up so someone else doesn’t feel bad? Normally Kirk would find this kind of sweet. Presently, he is really fucking tired and that’s about it.  

 

Or maybe its just the kind of person Spock is. He wants to be accepted. That’s ridiculous in this situation though. Nyota loves him, even Kirk can tell. Even when she’s pissed at him, she always eventually forgives him. It would shock Kirk if she did anything else. 

 

It could be the words. How do you tell someone they’re making your life hell, albeit unintentionally? 

 

Kirk rehearses, “Listen Nyota. The sound of your snoring when you sleep could wake the dead and then make the aforementioned resurrected wish they were once again deceased.”

 

Meh. Probably not. 

 

“Lieutenant Uhura. You have many great traits. You’re smart as a whip, you’ve proved again and again that you’re brave, and truthfully, there’s a high probability we’d all be dead a couple dozen times over if we didn’t have you around. However, there is something I feel is inhibiting the work performance of our First Officer and our Captain. I understand you’re uncomfortable and - ”

 

Nah. Takes too long. 

 

“Look, Nyota. I’ve never gestated a baby. That’s something your probably already know about me. So I really can’t speak on that but your snoring is keeping us all awake, and damn it, we need to do something about that.”

 

No. Again. Something about that seems like he has a bomb glued to his hand and he ignited it for some reason.

 

Kirk stares at the ceiling for a few hours, the sound of the blood rushing around his pained head almost diminishing the sound of Nyota. Almost. Not really though. 

 

He eventually tries to sleep for a bit in his bathroom. Not only is it the farthest from where Nyota is sleeping, it also seems like the tub might be comfortable enough to allow him a few minutes of much needed sleep. 

 

It isn’t.

.

.

.

The next day at lunch, Kirk sees Nyota sitting alone at a table. For a moment, the speeches he made last night rise up in his head and seem almost viable. Then he comes to his senses and crushes the ideas down violently.

 

“Lieutenant Uhura,” Kirk says as he slides into the seat across from her. 

 

“Captain,” she responds. Her eyes land on the mountain of french fries that he selected for his lunch, “If I may, sir, perhaps you might consider eating a fruit or vegetable?”

 

Kirk holds up a fry, “This is a vegetable, Lieutenant.”

 

Nyota doesn’t verbally respond. Instead, she pushes an uneaten spinach salad towards him. Kirk devours three fries at once but pulls the plate closer to him. She nods and returns to the soup in front of her. 

 

On the other side of the cafeteria, a group of officers burst into laughter. Kirk glances over. Scotty, Carol, and a dozen others are in tears over something Maureen from Engineering said. Kirk had seen the group when he entered but he had decided against sitting with them. He spent a lot of time with other people and sometimes he just preferred some quiet. 

 

Nyota clears her throat. Kirk turns back towards her but she does not have anything to say. She is suddenly shy, covering her mouth delicately with one hand.

 

“I like seeing them happy. Got a hard working bunch here,” Kirk says, nodding towards the table of officers. Nyota nods. Kirk adds, “Why aren’t you sitting with them?” 

 

Nyota waves her hand, brushing off the question. 

 

“You’ve been sitting alone a lot recently. That’s not like you,” Kirk continues, “Is it Pavel? Don’t let that bother you. You apologized. He apologized. I’m sure he’s forgotten about it.” 

 

Kirk tries to be gentle but he sees Nyota’s eyes flicker with anger. Months ago, the young navigator had said her swelling belly was cute one too many times and she’d snapped. Kirk tries again.

 

“Sulu?” Kirk asks, “Is it Sulu? I talked to him. He understand that the jokes he made about you, while being good natured, didn’t fall on deaf ear but slightly homicidal ears. I’m sure there wouldn’t be a repeat of that kind of thing.”

 

Internally, Kirk makes a note to consider holding a training to help the single, childless men on this ship gain a better understanding of the trial and tribulations of pregnancy. Kirk would probably have to take the class himself. Weeks ago, when he’d been in their quarters playing chess with Spock, he had accidentally eaten all of Nyota’s sour chewy candy. When she had returned with a craving for the very candy her Captain had devoured, she had proceeded to make him feel so guilty, he briefly considered traveling thousands light years just to get her more. 

 

“So nothing is bothering you,” Kirk says, “I’m just misreading this whole situation?”

 

Nyota sighs. Unfortunately, in the very moment of exasperation, her body, very much against her intention it appears, released a loud belch. She slaps a hand over her mouth but its too late. A handful of people at the tables around them turn to look.

 

Kirk wants to say something heartfelt and soothing but nothing of that nature comes to mind and instead he can only stare. Nyota’s face is burning and she stares intently at the table top, her other hand coming to cover the rest of her face. 

 

“Wow,” Kirk says, when the silence seems too long and he can’t help himself any longer.

 

“That’s one reason I’m sitting alone,” Nyota says through her hands. She grabs her tray of food and rushes to throw her trash away. Kirk jumps up and follows her. 

 

“It’s alright Nyota,” Kirk says when they are out in the hall, “Remember that time Bones split his pants at that embassy party back on Earth? Everyone bugged him about it for weeks and then we all forgot. I’m sure no one will bring this up ever again. Want to bet?”

 

“I am not entirely sure sharing a recollection of another crew member suffering through an embarrassing event that occurred three years ago is evidence the event has been forgotten it but I appreciate your efforts, Captain,” Nyota says. They have arrived at the elevator and she pushes the button forcefully. 

 

“Alright, alright,” Kirk says, searching for the right words, “I’m your Captain. I’m here to make sure you’re feeling safe and secure and appreciated and all that good stuff. So, if you want to talk about hormones and stuff, I’m ready.”

 

 She looks, in one generous words, disgusted at this very idea. When her mouth finally uncurls from its repugnant expression, she manages, “I’m fine, Captain.” She then pushes the button for the elevator five more times in rapid succession. 

 

“Okay,” Kirk says, “But if you want to.” Then he waits, feeling certain from her expression she is being worn down. 

 

“It’s awkward,” Nyota says, suddenly, after a few seconds past and the lift has still not arrived, “When your body changes like this and . . . Sometimes, I don’t feel like people understand how unpleasant and awkward it is,” She goes silent, her hand absently stroking her stomach. 

 

“Well. I don’t know much about this stuff and its been a while since I took biology or anything like that but,” Kirk pauses, contemplating his next words, “Just gonna take a shot in the dark.” He leans close so no one will overhear even though the hall is empty. Nyota shudders in anticipation, “Anyone who wouldn’t be your friend because you’re, you know, secreting certain . . . things, is not worth of being your friend at all.”

 

“Thank you very much, Captain,” Nyota says, rushing through the door of the lift before he can respond. She glances once more at him and pushes the emergency button so the door shuts quickly. 

.

.

.

“Thirty two centimeters,” Dr. McCoy says. He tosses the tape measure back into the drawer and puts the measurement into the computer. A scale crosses the screen and he compares her number with the standards, nodding when the task is completed, “Strong work, Lieutenant. Kid’s growing just fine.”

 

“I try, doctor,” Nyota replies. Spock feels the slight tension on her back through their connection and he reaches to help her adjust herself on the examination table. She accepts his help, rolling her eyes to indicate her frustration to him. He nods to acknowledge her. 

 

“I’m going to get the ultrasound machine. Dr. Chapel was using it on Joseph from Communications earlier,” Dr. McCoy says. 

 

“Doctor, do you intend to test the Lieutenant's blood pressure?” Spock asks. 

 

“Well, sorry I haven’t yet but thanks for telling me how to do my job,” Dr. McCoy says, snapping his notebook shut, “Wonderful little helper we have here. I’ll just run and get those machine for you. Blood pressure too.” 

 

“I believe the relationship between Dr. McCoy and I is becoming more cordial,” Spock says to Nyota. 

 

She laughs, “Berating people is how he show affection.”

 

Spock contemplates her observation. Perhaps. 

 

He feels his eyes drifting towards her abdomen. Her body has changed significantly during the course of recent months. He has found he enjoys the sight of their child growing within her very much, as it incites a sort of primal pride. Nyota chuckles when she experiences his thought. 

 

“Remember when there was nothing there?” Nyota asks, smiling, “It’s real now, you know?” 

 

“Their presences has been perceptible to me for eight point four weeks due to the developing familial bond,” Spock replies, “However I understand your need for tangible proof of their existence.”

 

“Curious,” Nyota says, remember his observations about the thoughts of their unborn child that he can perceived through the tenuous bond he shares with the fetus, “That’s how you described their insight on the world around them,” she pats her belly, affectionally, “I have a sneaking suspicion that means they’re going to destroy our home.” 

 

“Children destroy everything,” McCoy says, returning with a cart holding a number of machines, “I don’t even need to know the context. That fact always applies: children destroy everything.”

 

“Thank you, Dr. McCoy,” Nyota says.

 

“You’re welcome. Any time,” McCoy says, warming the bottle of gel in his hand. Spock notes that his tone is much more pleasant than it was in the statements made towards him. Despite McCoy’s efforts, Nyota still flinches as he spreads the frigid gel across her navel. 

 

Spock feels a slight trepidation as the doctor moves the wand across Nyota’s abdomen, an emotion he cannot be certain is his own or a mirror of Nyota’s own expression. It is of little consequence, however, as 18.4 seconds later, they both hear the thundering sound of their child’s heartbeat and the fear subsides. 

 

“The rate is average,” Spock informs Nyota. She nods, bitting her lip to prevent herself form smiling. 

 

“Are they sucking their thumb?” Nyota asks, as Dr. McCoy moves to examine the fetus’ face. 

 

“Yup. I can already tell you, she’s gonna get away with murder. Just too cute,” Dr. McCoy says. Spock and Nyota both turn towards him and the doctor curses loudly, “Shit. You didn’t want to know the sex.”

 

“No,” Nyota says.

 

“We did not,” Spock says.

 

“Well, tough. How different is it, between knowing now and learning in a couple weeks?” Dr. McCoy snaps, a guilty expression crossing his face, “I just saved you a bunch of time. I probably just eliminated a couple names for you. So, in a way, you’re welcome.”

 

“Thank you, Dr. McCoy,” Spock says.

 

Dr. McCoy growls, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m too damn old to actually do it but imagine my foot in my mouth.”

 

“I have already forgiven you,” Nyota says. 

 

“I will give forgiveness after you check the Lieutenant's blood pressure,” Spock says.

 

“Right,” Dr. McCoy says, winking at Spock. Nyota notices and searches her husband’s face. 

 

“I am merely trying to diminish your risk of eclampsia,” Spock assures her. Then he tells Dr. McCoy, “There is a possibility the Lieutenant has a genetic predisposition. Her cousin suffered from the condition.”

 

Nyota nods, “It’s true. I should have mentioned it. I can’t remember anything anymore.”

 

“They call it Pregnancy Brain. Probably due to the little parasite you have,” McCoy says. He wraps the cuff around her arm over her brachial artery, “I should take a couple samples too. I want to monitor your protein levels.”

 

Spock does not mention it but in his research, he had discovered a strong correlation between abnormal snoring in the third trimester and pre-eclampsia. He had been attempting unsuccessfully to monitor Nyota’s cardiac functions for days now. 

 

Mercifully, the machine is quick. 

 

“Perfectly normal,” Dr. McCoy says, making a note in his computer. He tears off the cuff and points at Nyota, “Make sure it stays that way.” She nods and McCoy tilts his head in Spock’s direction, “Check it often. Bring her here if there is a change.”

 

“Thanks a lot,” Nyota says, “He barely lets me open a door as it is.”

 

The door to medical bay flies open and a trio engineers rush in, one with what appears to be a second degree burn on both of their forearms. McCoy curses loudly, calling for a nurse. 

 

“Let’s get out of their way,” Nyota says, reaching out so Spock can help her up. She pinches her nose and Spock feels her nausea at the smell of burnt flesh. When she reaches out to hold his hand, he allows this rare display of public affection as it is obvious she may require support. 

 

As they move towards the hallway, he feels her elation and glances towards her out of the corner of his eye. She is smiling to herself, the expression so wide, he feels a slight pain in his own cheeks. She feels him watching, and turns towards him, her smile deepening even more. She touches her belly, “I guess that settles that. Amanda Adhara Uhura of the S'chn T'gai clan. Our daughter.”

 

Now he too feels a pull on his cheeks, one born from his own emotion. Within her mother’s womb, their daughter moves as if she recognizes her own name already. Both of her parents feel the sensation. 

 

“We await you,” Spock says to Amanda and Nyota smiles grows even more. 

.

.

.

“I forgot to call Dr. M’Benga about that medicine,” Nyota says when they arrive back in their quarters. 

 

“I have conducted rudimentary research on the substance. While there is no concrete evidence that it would be harmful, I believe it would be in your best interest to not partake,” Spock says. 

 

“Okay,” Nyota says. She leans on her toes to kiss his cheek, “If that what’s will make you feel best.”

 

“You appear fatigued, Nyota,” Spock says, “Perhaps you should consider resting briefly.”

 

“I have chores,” Nyota says, “You’ve been doing too much around the house. It’s not fair.”

 

“It puts me at no disadvantage to perform additional household duties,” Spock says, “However exhaustion would be extremely detrimental to you.”

 

“I would like a nap,” she finally admits. Nyota attempts to hug him but her large belly is a hinderance, “Seven more weeks, give or take, and I can hold you again.”

 

“50 days, 20 hours, and 58 minutes depending on a number of variables and potential circumstances,” Spock replies. 

 

Less than twenty two minutes later, the sound of her sleeping echoes through their home. 

 

Spock repairs the sanitization unit which has been malfunctioning for three days. Then he performs maintenance on the multiple living plants he and Nyota have placed around their quarters.  He dusts the artifacts and art pieces they utilize for decoration and fills the washing machine with the clothing items Nyota’s mother sent for their baby, before collecting cleaning solutions from the kitchen and moving towards the bathroom to sanitize. 

 

He has begun scrubbing the sink with a solution of baking soda and vinegar when the Captain enters the bathroom from his own personal quarters. Kirk glances in the direction of the room where Nyota is sleeping and sighs. He picks up a towel, wetting it with some water from the tap, and begins wiping spots off the mirror.

 

Neither speak for several minutes.  

 

Finally, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I think we should both suck it up,” Kirk says at the same time that Spock says, “I do not think there is a panacea for our predicament.”

 

“You first,” Kirk says. 

 

“I have procured sleep aids,” Spock replies, “I believe they would provide us with some relief.”

 

“Yeah,” Kirk says, “And I got some earplugs too. They’re small. She probably wouldn’t even notice them. She’s already so uncomfortable. It wouldn’t do to lay this on her as well. It’s only a couple more weeks, right?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Also, I’m sorry for trying to medicate your wife without her knowledge. I was exhausted. My judgment was impaired,” Kirk says, “I went into the Officer’s Lounge for a couple hours today and succumbed to what can only be described as a mild coma. I now see the error of my ways. You forgive me?”

 

“So long as you do not attempt to repeat your error,” Spock says. 

 

“And you’re sure you’re okay with just sucking it up?”

 

“I will not say I am not keen on avoiding a potentially embarrassing situation,” Spock replies, “However, I can honestly state that I value her general comfort over my own mild vexation in one minor area of my life. Her health and the well-being of our unborn child are more important. Nyota requires sleep. We, however, have the ability to endure.”

 

“It’s the least we can do right? For what the outcome is?”

 

“I agree,” Spock says. 

.

.

.

Later when sleep is still alluding him due to the deafening sound of Nyota, Spock reminds himself, by leaning close, holding her sleeping form against himself and reaching to touch their unborn daughter, whose wakefulness mirrors his own. Amanda kicks against his hands, eager to make her entrance into the world, if her burgeoning thoughts are any indication.

 

49 days, 9 hours, and 8 minutes, depending on a number of variables and potential circumstances.


End file.
